Authors: Elizabeth Brundage
The Doctor's Wife (38 page)
He turned away, leaving her with the thrill. Letting her have it all to herself. And maybe he saw the tears. And shaking his head because she had done it and maybe he couldn’t believe it, a hole in the cheek, in the shoulder, in the fleshy excess of the abdomen. He laughed like a proud father. “I had a feeling you were going to be good at this.”
37
THE PARCEL SAT on their doorstep. Annie picked it up. It was addressed to her. The return address was from the catalog company McMillan & Taft, a favorite among her students. Unwrapping the brown paper she felt a tingling in her legs, a rapacious anticipation. Her eyes met the lavender tissue paper, folded neatly around the mysterious gift and sealed with a sticker that said
Delectable Intimates.
Her fingers tore apart the sticker and ventured under the paper into the slippery undulating folds of a satin negligee. Her heart began to pound; there wasn’t any card.
Delectable Intimates.
Her fingers tore apart the sticker and ventured under the paper into the slippery undulating folds of a satin negligee. Her heart began to pound; there wasn’t any card.
Of course it had to be from Simon, she thought, suddenly famished for his touch. The negligee was the palest shade of pink, like the inside of a shell, and, she thought, in very good taste. Alone in the house, she decided to try it on. Upstairs, she went into the bathroom and took off her clothes and slipped the negligee over her head. The fabric slid over her body like running water, hugging every inch of her. Annie looked in the mirror and saw herself anew. From housewife to temptress in a matter of seconds. She felt like one of those Hollywood actresses in an old movie, beautiful and misunderstood, gliding through the room clutching a cigarette case and a highball.
That afternoon, after her Intro to Journalism class, she drove out to the motel. She tried the room; it was locked. She went down to the office and tapped the little bell. The manager came out from the back room, slid the key across the counter. “He’s not here yet.”
“Oh. Well, thank you.” Awkwardly, she took the key. On quivering legs, she walked down to the room as if she were high on a rope bridge over a deep ravine. Simon was always there first, waiting for her, which made the whole situation so much easier. Unlocking the door, she considered the strange reality that her secret union with Simon was the first thing she had done on her own, entirely for herself, since the day she’d married. Even her decision to marry Michael had been prompted and promoted by others for as long as she could remember. Like fulfilling some subliminal family contract, Annie had done all the right things. She’d married in her twenties—a
doctor
—had had children before it was too late, and had salvaged something of her career. But when she was honest with herself, Michael’s profession had proved to be a disappointment. His career had chipped away at the compassionate young man she had fallen in love with and had turned him into a weary, desensitized workaholic. The change had been a tedious betrayal that took greedily from him,
from both of them,
without remorse. On the surface, Michael was handsome and successful and Annie could easily rationalize his neglect, overlooking the emotional toll it was taking on her. But now she had changed. She couldn’t do that anymore.
doctor
—had had children before it was too late, and had salvaged something of her career. But when she was honest with herself, Michael’s profession had proved to be a disappointment. His career had chipped away at the compassionate young man she had fallen in love with and had turned him into a weary, desensitized workaholic. The change had been a tedious betrayal that took greedily from him,
from both of them,
without remorse. On the surface, Michael was handsome and successful and Annie could easily rationalize his neglect, overlooking the emotional toll it was taking on her. But now she had changed. She couldn’t do that anymore.
During the few hours a week she spent with Simon Haas, she had blown the dust off her prim middling self and gotten reacquainted with the woman underneath, a slippery, lithe, ravenous animal—the woman Michael had been ignoring for too long. The awful truth was that, at some point soon, she would have to banish her again. She knew this. And she would miss her profoundly.
The little room was cold and seemed haunted with the ghosts of dissolute guests. She sat down on the bed and waited. An hour passed. Maybe something had happened, she thought. His wife, perhaps. Maybe something had happened with his wife and he couldn’t call her. Or maybe he’d decided to end it. It was too painful waiting here, not knowing, and she felt foolish in the negligee. She couldn’t stand it another minute. She decided to leave a note with the manager, but where was a pen? She looked around the shabby little room. It was dark and pathetic, as was their alliance. Guilt bullied its way into her heart, and for the first time she felt ashamed. She should have just ended it, she thought. Her marriage was already in jeopardy. Who did she think she was, having an affair? She was not the sort of woman who did this kind of thing.
Resolute, she decided to write a letter to Simon explaining her feelings. She didn’t want to hurt him; no, that was the last thing she wanted— in fact, her feelings for him were very deep—but the affair would have to end. Yes. She would have to put aside her desire for him for the benefit of her family. It was the right thing to do,
of course it was,
and he would understand. If he wanted, he could find another writer for the article. There was still time, if he felt that was necessary.
of course it was,
and he would understand. If he wanted, he could find another writer for the article. There was still time, if he felt that was necessary.
Strangely relieved, Annie grabbed her bag and opened the door only to find her lover standing on the other side of it, the key poised in his hand like a weapon.
“Don’t bother, I’m leaving.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“No apology necessary.” She attempted to get around him but he held her arm and pushed her back into the room rather violently and closed the door. Her heart began to pound.
“Stop this nonsense. Take off your clothes.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“You’ll be sorry.” He smiled. And then, unwittingly, she smiled, too. “I’ll have to give you a spanking.”
She could feel her face flushing red. “Where were you? It wasn’t nice of you to keep me waiting like this.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I was painting, Annie.” He opened his hands, revealing the splotches of color. “It’s because of you.” He came toward her.
“Look, Simon. This isn’t right. We can’t keep doing this. Even though I want to. You know I want to.”
“I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”
“What we’re doing is wrong. You know that.”
“We have this incredible thing, Annie. We have this, this
heat
between us. It doesn’t happen every day. It’s a gift. You think I’ve ever had this?”
heat
between us. It doesn’t happen every day. It’s a gift. You think I’ve ever had this?”
She desperately wanted to believe him.
“You think I have this with
her
?” He sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m trapped,” he said. “Her and me. We’re both trapped.” He sighed deeply. “I never meant . . .”
her
?” He sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m trapped,” he said. “Her and me. We’re both trapped.” He sighed deeply. “I never meant . . .”
“For this to happen?”
“I never expected to feel like this.” He looked at her. “I never expected to feel this way about you.”
“Me either.”
“I love the way your hair falls down your back, for example. Your hair.” He ran his hand through her hair. “It’s like ink spilled out all over the place, it’s like a whole bucketful of water. Cold river water. Or the mane of a horse.” He grabbed her hair like a tail and pulled on it hard. “You are my wild horse.”
It was true that he loved her and that she loved him, it was all true yet there was nothing either could do about it. There was no future for them, nor did they have a past. She could not call him whenever she wanted, or see him whenever the spirit moved her. And yet, in so many ways, he was the one person who seemed to know her best. He was the single person on earth she wanted to be with.
It seemed to her that life was full of missed opportunities, that nearly every moment in a day contained fragments of loss.
She loved his painter’s eyes, the moody complexity of his mouth. And she loved the boy that lingered there, the sad boy in his fingertips as they ran their lovely rain across her back.
“Come here, let me kiss you.” He reached out for her, unbuttoning her coat. When his hands came in contact with the satin fabric of the negligee his face opened with surprise. “What do we have
here
? Is this for
me
?” Kissing her face, her neck, he ventured beneath the raincoat to the negligee below. “Lovely.” He kissed her wrists and elbows and shoulders and neck. Her thighs, her knees, her long calves. Her toes. They moved back on the bed, spinning inside each other’s arms, and she closed her eyes and indulged in the commotion of desire, holding on to him very tightly as if in the midst of a terrible storm. In his arms, she had found a quiet place, far away from everything she knew, and for the first time all day she could breathe.
here
? Is this for
me
?” Kissing her face, her neck, he ventured beneath the raincoat to the negligee below. “Lovely.” He kissed her wrists and elbows and shoulders and neck. Her thighs, her knees, her long calves. Her toes. They moved back on the bed, spinning inside each other’s arms, and she closed her eyes and indulged in the commotion of desire, holding on to him very tightly as if in the midst of a terrible storm. In his arms, she had found a quiet place, far away from everything she knew, and for the first time all day she could breathe.
38
THEY HAD LAIN THERE for a long time, watching the rain. Simon sensed her uneasiness, as though she were playing out some premonition in her mind. He rolled onto his side and put his arms around her. She turned her head and smiled at him. She said, “You shouldn’t send things to the house. I mean I love that you did, but you really shouldn’t.”
He looked at her. “What are you talking about?”
“This,” she said, touching the negligee on her body, “I’m talking about this.”
He saw in her face that she’d thought he’d sent it.
“A bit conservative for my taste, don’t you think?”
“What? You mean you didn’t send it?” Her skin turned a queasy pea green.
He shook his head. “Maybe your husband’s trying to tell you something.”
“Tell me what?”
“Well, I assume you’re not sleeping with him terribly much.”
She didn’t like the comment, but she did not deny it. “I have to go.” She got up and went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He could hear the plastic curtain sliding across the rod. He went into the bathroom and picked up the negligee off the floor. If her husband
hadn’t
sent it, who had?
hadn’t
sent it, who had?
The tag said
Delectable Intimates,
but that meant nothing to him. He wasn’t the sort of person who knew about things like tags and designers.
Delectable Intimates,
but that meant nothing to him. He wasn’t the sort of person who knew about things like tags and designers.
He yanked on the shower curtain and appraised his lover’s shape. “Hello there.”
“Hello.”
“I was just wondering. Do you come with the room?”
“Go away.” She slid the curtain back.
He yanked the curtain open. “I was hoping for a little room service.”
“Room service?” she asked, her grin an invitation.
“I hope you don’t mind.” He stepped under the hot streaming water. “I’ve got a very big appetite.”
She opened her arms. “Help yourself.”
With the retrospective looming, Simon had begun to paint regularly in his studio. Besides the motel room with Annie, it was the only place he wanted to be. He knew, however, that he could not afford to abandon his wife just now. On her last visit to the psychiatric hospital they had diagnosed her with severe cyclical depression that required careful monitoring. They’d set her up with a local psychiatrist, but Simon suspected that she didn’t keep her appointments. Now he feared that the cycle had returned, and that without the proper medication, she would be swept up in an emotional tornado that had the potential to wipe out whatever it came in contact with.
To the outside world, Lydia exuded a modesty and temperance. Simon knew that, as an employee at the catalog, his wife was tirelessly reliable. He also knew that the people she’d entertained from church saw her as a veritable saint. All those happy people who sat in his house around his kitchen table talking about the great Lord Jesus and His wondrous deeds. It gave him a headache just thinking about it.
When he returned home from the motel that afternoon, he took it upon himself to search through her things. He did so methodically, like a detective would, craving an understanding of the woman he called his wife. His instincts told him that she was up to something ugly. Her world, it seemed to him, was that of a teenager’s, full of high peaks and dramatic valleys, but her sordid pathology made it impossible for him to predict her behavior. Her bureau was crammed with bowls of bracelets, childish bangles and necklaces adorned with charms of the day, such as peace symbols and crosses and words like
Happiness
and
Tranquillity,
two things his wife knew nothing about. There was an assortment of religious objects, crucifixes and candles and small figurines of the Virgin Mary.
Garbage,
he thought, fighting the impulse to sweep the surface clean.
Happiness
and
Tranquillity,
two things his wife knew nothing about. There was an assortment of religious objects, crucifixes and candles and small figurines of the Virgin Mary.
Garbage,
he thought, fighting the impulse to sweep the surface clean.
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